It's time to see who Jonathan Crimson's district partner is going to be!


I stood still out of shock, a feeling running through my veins that I didn't quite know, but whatever it was, I didn't like it. I was picked! Out of the hundreds of thousands of slips, mine was chosen. I stood immobile, paralyzed in fear as the other boys from my age looked at me in confusion. "This can't be happening!" I thought. Slowly, but surely I began to move my feet slowly, and slide out of the line, sweat pouring down my face. I inched up the gravel street, where all around me is the shroud of silence. You could hear a pin drop; it is that quiet. I looked back at my mother, her face devoid of emotion. She was going to lose an angel. Sometimes my mother has this practice that she liked to execute where she'd write off someone or something's death. I hadn't even thought of how my brother was taking what happened.

There is an air that blew through the courtyard, yet it added to the eeriness and quietness of the town square. No picks me up and demanded to volunteer - I simply wasn't special enough - so I am left alone to face the Hunger Games darkness myself. I climbed up the steps and looked past the crowd, the first tear sliding down my cheek. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Lucas standing with other friends his age, his mouth agape, but no sound coming out. I wondered what he was thinking, how he'd take my possible death... but that was far ahead of me and I didn't have the time to think about it.

My moment of silence would not come to pass, however, as I was immediately reminded by the damn bat lady who picked me that she still existed.

"Give it up for Jonathan Crimson, your District 12 male tribute for the 99th Hunger Games!" Georgia shrieked excitedly, her powdered wig flopping askew. I glared at her, but she never turned my way, and that slightly ticked me off because here I am about to die and she doesn't have the common decency to look at me.

"Why not do the girl tribute Miss Heffner?" I suggested, so the camera couldn't be on me when I would start to cry. Normally the focus would center on the escort of the district until it gravitated towards the reaped tribute or volunteer, but since we're in District 12, that seldom ever happened. With the camera focused back onto Georgia and her powdered wig and her silliness, perhaps I could sob and not be judged for it.

"Good idea Jonathan!" Georgia smiled - as if using my name somehow meant we had something personal between us; I loathed her and she secretly loathed me and that was that - and she reached into the girl's bowl opposite her. I still found it out of place that she, for the 'professional' she claimed herself to be, would do the reaping out of order and call the male name first and the female name second. Stupid is as stupid does, I guess.

Her hand dipped into the girls bowl, fingers hovering ghostly over the edges of the white slips of paper; written away in a stolen dark ink are the names of kids doomed to die, and she holds the executable power. Georgia dug her entire arm, about halfway up to the crook of her elbow where her hand clawed in like a bear's. A single slip of paper emerged from the mesh of blizzard white. Unlucky female tributes... Georgia dashed back to the microphone again, and I noticed she had much more pep in her step than when picking the male name. Outwards does the sound go, and it riveted through me as she spoke another name. "Katie Wenshaw!"

I felt a pang of dread. "I know that name, but, where do I know that name from?" I thought. Then I remembered... Katie Wenshaw is one of Bailey's good friends. I never spoke to her that often, even though we were in the same grade and didn't necessarily have all too much in common than having a mutual friend through Bailey. She was sixteen years old like me and Bailey, but I never saw her that often. Over on the right side of the stage - from my view facing the gathered District 12 crowd - a group in the sixteen year-old female section dispersed outwards around one said unlucky individual. Katie stood alone - there she is, my mind prattled obnoxiously, your tormentor throughout the games - with her hands covering her ears. She straightened herself some, seeing that all of Panem currently had its focus on her. She placed a foot out into the main aisle and walked the long road of imminent and surefire death. Again, likewise with me, no one clapped, no one volunteered... it is unthinkable silence. Katie climbed the steps to the stage, her chestnut brown hair tied in a ponytail down her back. I could see from my position on the stage that there was ramparts of shock that lingered on her face, slowly as her mind whirled and geared together a somewhat satisfying plotline. Her emerald green eyes were wide in alarm. When she stood next to me, I gave her a glance, to make sure she knew what I looked like. Though I figured that she wouldn't forget me, it had been a good month or so since I had last seen her, let alone who knew how long since I spoke a word to her at that. I wouldn't want it resting on my conscious that someone I knew very well died by my hand. I wanted the proceedings to be over - let Katie and I cry and die in peace - but of course life wouldn't give me what I wanted. Georgia still wasn't done.

Of course she wasn't.

"Here we are, District 12! Your tributes for the 99th Hunger Games, Mr. Jonathan Crimson and Miss Katie Wenshaw," Georgia announced to the crowd. "Shake hands, lovelies!"

I turned dutifully towards Katie, and she followed suit, although there was more of a begrudging movement in her step. For a moment we locked eyes - we'll live, mine said, don't worry about the future. Only worry about the past - before hers fell from mine to look at the ground. She outstretched her right hand, and I shook it eagerly. Although there was no smile on my face, I didn't express a grim emotion among the lines of sadness or morbidity, but complacency. There still were no cheers to drown out the processions.

Georgia stepped back into the frame, blocking both Katie and I outright from anyone else who could see us. "Alright, District 12! That's a wrap! Remember, family members and friends who wants to say goodbye can come once the doors to the Justice Building are closed. After that our two tributes will be gone to the Capitol with me for the games," she takes a slight pause, looking around. "Has anyone seen Henry? Is Henry Kraving around? Anyone? He should be here right now. I don't know why he's not here..." Georgia rambled on, after people gave her a resounding sound of dissent.

A groan sank in from my throat down to my shoes. Henry Kraving. The last loophole I had completely forgotten about. After Katniss, Peeta, and Haymitch all died during the failed second insurrection against the Capitol, District 12 had one more victor in the twenty-four year span since the fallout. His name was Henry Kraving, and he's been on our only victor for only a few short years. I remember seeing his games on the televisions screen - I had been around ten at the time - thinking that a Career would come in and sweep away the entire process, as it looked like everyone other than the Careers would be mincemeat and it'd become a boring year like no other. Surprise, surprise, Henry Kraving wins, but after watching him on screen, he didn't exactly inspire the masses. He was not the smartest bulb in the shed, and seemed rather unintelligible at that. He only lived because he didn't kill a single person, and hid the entire time while the Careers killed and killed, forgetting about him and turning in one themselves. He got a training score of two, his interview was less than memorable, and he only won six years ago at the age of fourteen, he now turning twenty recently.

Goodie, goodie.

"Goodbye, District 12! See you next year for the Quarter Quell!" Georgia smiled, announcing her heralded goodbye. Likewise with there being no volunteers and no one cheering, no one says goodbye or claps or anything... dead silence blanketed the square, leaving Katie and I to mill and stand around awkwardly, still not speaking to each other. Georgia grabbed us by the elbows, pinching us as she drew us along. Katie and I were dragged away from the edge of the stage and further along into the Justice Building, our lovely escort closing them behind us.

I glared at Georgia - damn her peppiness - and lingered slowly behind. On the sides of the main doors were two adjacent rooms, Katie already strolling into hers, not even uttering one word to me. In these rooms were the suites - excuse me, holding rooms or cells - that the tributes waited in to say goodbye to their family and mutual friends. I opened the door to the suite that was for the male tribute. Inside sat Bailey, my mother, and Lucas. All three of them, my family members and closest friend, had their eyes a burning red, constantly rubbing at them. Crying. Of course.

"Guys..." I said with exasperation. I didn't want to start crying already, not even being five minutes into the most stressful week of my life. If they began to sob harder than they already were doing by the look of things, I'd break, and although I didn't quite have an idea in mind on how things were going to go, this wouldn't be the hour or minute I'd break.

Lucas looked up at me first, his eyes the reddest of all. My heart fell. He was so young when my dad left us. I had been four years old, my brother barely a month old at this point, and then I no longer had a father. He didn't die, like many fathers in District 12 would because of mining accidents or political step-ins, but simply deserting my mother. My memory of him was super fuzzy, as twelve years of not seeing someone for so long would finally get to me eventually... and here my brother is, probably thinking he hasn't gotten very long to know his own older brother either.

"Are you- are you going to die, Jonathan?" My brother, although young, had a lot more wit to him than what he let on. He knew where I was going and what was going to happen to me if I lost.

I smiled faintly, leaning down in front of him near the chair he was sitting in. He took one of my hands in his, squeezing the ever living life out of it with empathy, looking at me deeply with those wide diamond eyes. I clasped my other hand over his. "I'll never leave you, Jonathan. I'll fight back. I will..." Strangely, with those words coming out of mouth, I hadn't believed myself as I gave him a promise. A promise I'll return to him may end up being regrettable.

My mother stood up at this point, having sat on the floor over by the far corner, unable to look at me. I don't know if she was going to see me as father once more, to compare his deserting with my inevitable dying - promises, Jonathan, promises you need to keep - as something she'd no longer be able to stand. If I died, I don't know if she'd ever be the same again. Probably not, I imagine. "Your father would be so proud of you," she whispered to me, holding me by the sides of my face, her hands cold and shocking. She leaned in, kissing my forehead. I felt on the verge of tears. My mother looked at me with her deep aquamarine eyes. "You've grown into a fine young man, Jonathan. I don't know the extent of your hunting skills, but use whatever you've got in your arsenal to live. You can do it. I love you, Jonathan."

Bailey removed herself from her perch on the wall, throwing an arm around me. "I am unable to process what I'm feeling, Jon..." she broke off for a second, eyes focused on the outside window. "If you- if you die... I don't- I don't know what I'd do without you, and without Katie as well..."

I looked back at her. Bailey Resel is my best friend, the only best friend I've held my entire life. We've been to each other's houses for dinner constantly, I've hunted with her ever since I became strong enough to hold a bow. All the laughs. All the words I wish I could say. Looking into her eyes, I came over with an emotion I hadn't ever felt before. Underneath a certain guise of the light, she looked ethereal, she looked effortlessly beautiful and it'd be gone before I knew it. "Bailey..." I trailed off, having to look away unless I wanted to cry, "You know I can't ever repay you for the things you've done for my family. Thank you... thank you for everything," I said, throwing my hands around her in a hug.

Lucas stood up and joined in on the hug, and although that gesture was simple, there aren't enough words in the English dictionary to describe how horribly uplifting yet saddening it was at the same time as me, my brother, and my best friend hugged in a circle.

When we broke apart, Bailey's eyes were tinted red once more. Her eyes brightened momentarily, her hand digging into her pocket. She made a frustrated face, being unable to retrieve whatever it was that she wanted, I couldn't quite tell. After a moment of struggle, she succeeded and pulled out a wooden charm. "I took it with this morning by chance. I- I thought you might have wanted to have this," she smiled.

I grabbed the charm from her grasp, gazing down at it. My eyes muddled with water, and a tear spilled down my cheek. In my hands - an old keepsake when thinking about it - was something that Bailey and I made together on our very first hung together. We were both eleven, and all we did was pick a basket of strawberries and prove unsuccessful at killing a wild turkey. We were both exhausted at such a young age, plopping down on a bent over log that'd become our rendezvous point. We grabbed a stick laying in the dirt, whittled it down with a hunting knife, and created circular 'good luck' charms. I had lost mine several years ago during a particularly rough storm one evening, and had to admit to Bailey that I no longer had mine. It was nothing more than the shape of a bow and arrow surrounded by the wooden circle. Once again, it was nothing special but a reminder to our younger nostalgia when we were still blind in this world of death and bleakness "You still have this?" I had been under the presumption Bailey had put it somewhere and forgotten about it around the time I lost mine. "You kept yours all this time? We- we made them in the woods like six years ago!" I exclaimed, dumbfounded.

Bailey blushed. "Yeah, I kept it in a box, in my room. I put it there after you said you had lost yours in the storm. I never let my mom throw it out. I'd take it out and put it in my pocket on reaping days to be used for safe keeping and good luck. It seems I don't need it this year. You do. Keep it."

Lucas whistled, understanding the underlying subtlety going on between us. "Oh..." he said quietly.

I did another group hug with them all, squeezing out a few tears and choked goodbyes. I had to remain the ever all knowing optimist that there was a chance for success and for failure on the same token; I could easily return home as a victor or as a corpse. While we sat around for a few more minutes chatting away, sooner than later, in a time that felt like it never even happened, the door to the suite opened. An official looking man with a suit peeked his head in, eyes shadowed by dark rimmed sunglasses. "Time for family and friends to leave," he grunted curtly.

I looked back at my family, Lucas clawing to my leg, not wanting to leave. Bailey had to pry him off, my mom already vacating the room, unable to stand it. Lucas, who couldn't handle being ripped away from me so fast, struggled in her grip, letting out an estranged cry. "Bailey, stop! I want to stay with Jonathan! Don't let them kill you Jon! Please don't die! JON!"

His voice rattled my bones, even after the stinging pain passes.

The door is slammed shut, the ghastly noise echoing all around the room; my family is gone and I'm let all alone. The door is opened again after a few moments of silence - perhaps ensuring my family stays away forever - and I slipped my token back into my pocket, patting it for good measure. Walking back into the foyer, the same suited gentleman guides me into another room. Katie is already sitting inside, her knees tucked up to her chest as she sits meekly in the corner. The man instructed us to wait for Henry and Georgia to come into the room to watch the reapings. When I sat down, I noticed that Katie's eyes are puffy from crying, her nose a tainted cardinal like one of the poor children who gets a cold. Georgia fumbled for the remote, staying silent on terms of chatter, so I had all the time in the world to look at the screen. In front of us were twelve separate windows, that I imagined would be the twelve reapings of Panem already recorded and ready for presentation. The people in the Capitol would already be spooning themselves third and fourth helpings of the travesties on the silver screen in front of them because it was the sensible thing to do. Georgia pressed play, and then there began a slow descent into the madness and doom of what I would forever see. On the screen, the reaping comes on from all twelve districts.

One foggy day, when Bailey and I were maybe thirteen or fourteen, having survived the first two or three reapings, she had made a checklist survival guide on what we'd do to if either one of us were reaped. Now that it was turn in an unforeseeable future, that list perhaps would've come in handy. What always stuck out at me was a decision to make a mental note of the tributes you saw. Determine who'd be a threat, determine who would be a pity party case, and determine some people's strengths and weakness based on what was seen. As the Panem logo appeared on the screen, my eyes stayed close to the important details on what would come next.

First to be put on my list is the girl who does a cartwheel to the stage in District 1, her blonde hair ripe in the sunlight. A crippled boy with two crutches underneath his arms hobbled up to the stage in District 3. My blood ran cold at the view of a monstrous brother and sister pair in District 6 that lunge up to volunteer, there being an obvious distinction of muscle between them. I wonder exactly how they came into such physical prowess, as looking back over Katie and myself, we were not cherished nor birthed with special stature and form builds. Following them was a boy from 9 who looks like he had lived in the woods before he was reaped, with the wild eyes and shaggy hair. Following him is a girl from District 11, and hearing how old she is when she uttered the answer into the microphone near about broke my heart. District 11's female tribute, who has no volunteers, is named Madison, and she's twelve years old. I want to shield away from the screen when our district logo popped up, the infamous District 12, but part of me is unable to look away at what transpired. My face is still the same look as when I was reaped, and Katie, though she is crying, has composed herself since the videotaping.

Georgia turns off the screen, turning to us, opening her mouth when she's interrupted. A loud shout rang out somewhere else inside the Justice Building and then a devastating caw followed by the breaking of glass burst from the other corridor. Georgia muttered something about unintelligible victors underneath her breath when the ever lasting lord and savior of District 12 waltzed in.

Henry Kraving. This day is turning out wonderful.

Henry, before he became an adult, used to have a naturally round face with colored cheeks full of energy and vibrancy. The man staring back at Katie and I is no longer the same man, his eyebrows furrowed together, untamed and wild mahogany hair spinning a whirling dervish above his head. His old, illuminating brown eyes are saddened and aged, showing weathered lines underneath as he's seen a lot in his young life, and like the tributes who have died in the arena, he has lost his youth too soon.

"Henry! Why don't you join us?" Georgia invited him over, her voice perky and percolating as per usual, the woman would never learn.

"Nah, I'm going to get a scotch." Henry waved her off with a chuckle, laughing to himself. Over in one of the corners of the room was a drinking table. Henry Kraving was no proclaimed alcoholic, as Haymitch Abernathy could take that role in spades - which everyone knew the man did fairly well - but it had been a known 'secret' that after the reapings and before the Capitol proceedings, he'd take a scotch.

Of everyone in the room, I didn't expect Katie to be the first to speak. "You can't drink!" Katie scoffed, her face turning angry from the hurt puppy dog look that she had been displaying earlier. "You may be twenty, but we're going to need help! You can't help us very well if you're drunk!"

Henry scowled back at her, and I was uncertain in that time whether or not our victor believed Katie to be the tribute, Georgia, or some other Capitol maid. "Ah phooey... who gives a shit?"

"I do," I said defiantly, jutting out my chin. I seconded Katie on her thought process. We have had our lives tragically ripped away from us, are now thrown into a gang-cock ring of bullies and adversaries, expected to outlive everyone, and come back with our sanity intact. Henry, who's been through the system and luckily survived, would be our only source of hope and guidance. We couldn't do too well if the one mascot and leader we had gave up and held zero to no confidence on his tributes before the games even began.

He furrowed his eyebrows at me, trying to place myself in his world. "Oh yes... I remember you now," he smirked. "You are the tribute that freezes on stage and then rolls over and dies. I always get a cocky male and a female who is just an uppity brat, and then they end up dying anyways. You're not special kid. Realize that, and realize it soon before the games murder you."

I felt a burning anger in me, rising from stomach out and up through my mouth. I chewed him out, not knowing what was good for me. "Shut up! Just because you're a victor and have had a rough life doesn't mean you get to quit out on us before it even starts! Grow up!"

Henry slammed his fist against the side of my jaw. I hadn't quite expected such a violent reaction from him for telling him off, my body sprawled down to the carpet. Stars dazzled behind my eyes, and what happened next surprised me even more. Katie, I suppose in an act of defense - and against Georgia's mindless babbling about keeping the carpet clean - reached over for one of the knives on the table which held the drinks. She lunged for Henry and pressed the blade into the softness of his throat under his Adam's apple. Silence passed over the room, Henry squaring down a look straight into Katie's eyes. They were brimming with hatred, a soulful fire burning back at our mentor. Georgia helped me up from off the ground, Katie slowly lowering the knife away from Henry's throat. The victor peered at us with squinted eyes, and I still am unsure exactly what happened.

"Did you just... did you just threaten to slit my throat?" he asked her, his voice nothing more than a mere whisper.

"Yes," Katie said boldly. "You had no act to right that violently!"

Her and I passed a glance between us, unsure of where the path would go from here. Henry stared at us a moment more before unleashing a wild fit of laughter. Our mentor bent over and placed his hands on his knees, giggling and carrying on so hard he almost tipped over. Both of us rocked on our heels awkwardly, Georgia even being at a loss for words - it wasn't tragic, believe me - until his laughing fit subsided.

"I've been doing for this six years and I don't think that has ever happened in my life!" he exclaimed. Henry wiped away a few tears from his eyes, having cried from laughing so hard.

Katie rubbed her arm innocuously. "I'm sorry..." she whispered.

"Don't be," Henry waved her off like he had done Georgia. "It proves you got a fight still left in both of you. One uses harsh words, the other threatens to cut people's throats. Sounds pretty badass to me."

Georgia pursed her lips. "Is all this childish pettiness done yet?" Oh the irony.

Henry rolled his eyes. "Yes, princess, it's over."

Our escort sniffed the air. "The train has just arrived and I'd rather prefer we get on it before we're left behind and executed for not showing up."

"Good idea..." Katie said, avoiding Henry's gaze and likewise with me.

Georgia took us both by our hands, pulling us behind the viewing room where we had watched the reapings. Henry trailed slowly behind us, still complaining about the scotch, or rather lack thereof. I wanted the stars to finally clear from my vision, as I rubbed my sore jaw. On the other side of the Justice Building was a train station, nothing more than a platform painted snowstorm white as the sun beat down on it. Katie and I looked down the tracks - I've only ever seen a train once in my life before, but that had been on film - to see something silver moving towards us at a speed I found unfathomable.

The Capitol train arrived with a screech, the two of us having a moment to take it all in. I had never seen something so manmade and pretty, where technology could lead to wonderful and gorgeous things if the right intent was put into it. The train sluggishly pulled into the station, a sleek monochrome door appearing in front of us. The four of us on the platform held in bated breaths, and then the doors opened. Katie and I gasped in surprise at the velvet lined carpets and the ornate lamp hanging in the doorway, purely from the entrance I was entranced. It was pure luxury, and it would be the only time I would ever experience it. Katie smoothed her hand down the wall of tile and drew back as if it was radioactive. Henry didn't notice any of this, slamming into the wall in the main living room while we were walking in. Georgia clasped her hands together, watching dazedly at the amazement of what her tributes thought of the Capitol. My opinion on the dastard location I'd be going to would never change; horrible through and through and through, but this train I'd admit was downright beautiful. I ran my hand down the smooth silk that decorated the couch in the tribute living room part of the train, looking back at my fingers with a mesmerized gaze as my body returned to me unscathed. When Henry and Georgia sat down, Katie and I were still mesmerized by the glory of the Capitol train.

Henry cleared his throat. "Guys, over here."

Katie snapped her head up. "Oh, sorry. It- it is just so cool!"

"You'll get used to it. I did only after a few hours."

I sat down across from him, Katie occupying an empty seat across from Georgia. "Is this the time where you start talking to us?"

Henry stared at me, drilling an uncomfortable hole into my skull. "It'll take us about a day in a half to reach the Capitol. Between now and then you two have the freedom to go anywhere on the train with reasonable intent. Should you wish to get any forewarning advice about the games, now would be the time to get preliminaries out of the way. Sit down."

Katie and I shared a glance. Uh? We were already sitting down, so his point was moot. "We're ready," Katie broke a smile, but I saw right through it.

Henry nodded, leaning back in his seat to make himself comfortable. He opened his mouth and started to talk, how that when we arrive we would - we being Katie and myself - be thrown into the hands of our stylists, one head stylist for the each of us, followed by a three manned prep team. We were to follow every instruction they were to give us. Katie and I shuddered at the thought of having our skin dyed magenta, and gem stones pressed into our skin. Henry wasn't finished, because he said that we were going to have to play up a role; some were destined to be charming devil spawns that would draw numerous sponsors that'd ensure people would support us and help us not, to put it bluntly, not die. Henry, through this recourse of sponsors and the tribute parade, drifted towards went every weapon in existence. Knives, glaives, spears, maces, clubs, and my personal favorite, the bow and arrow. I wanted to object hotly when he went over the bow, as I already had a pretty decent idea on the mechanisms and schematics of said weapon, it being what I used to hunt. Katie wrinkled her nose in disgust as Henry described how to stab someone - Step One, take blade. Step Two, walk up to tribute. Step Three, insert blade into tribute with a jabbing motion. Step Four, repeat repeatedly. Step Five, if there is blood pouring out of the tribute, you're doing it right. Easy peasey, lemon squeezy - I was almost about to vomit myself when he had been said and done with the procedure. If Henry noticed our displeasure, he didn't show it. By the time Henry was finished, Katie bolted from her chair and launched to the restroom. Georgia winced as the sounds of Katie hurling filled the chamber. A sound from the outside clashed with Katie's vomiting, which kind of felt like a holy godsend.

"We're leaving!" Georgia shrieked, jumping from her seat, startling the bejeezus out of me.

"Wonderful..." I said sarcastically, placing my head against my chin.

Henry shot me a look as soon as the words left my mouth, my spine freezing up in an instant. "None of that sarcasm here, Mr. Crimson, not here. You will dead before you step off that train. There's nothing worse than a Capitol that can smell a tribute's fear or anger. It'll be used against you and you'll be turned into the biggest joke there ever will be."

His words took me by surprise, jolting me out of the stupor I had placed myself in.

It only seemed like the further this Hunger Games journey would be dragged along, the worse my outcome in the game would seem to look.

This was only just the beginning.


A long chapter, I know, but a whole lot to get through. Will Jonathan warm up to Katie, or will they be cold stalwart enemies from Day 1 in the arena? Only time will tell.

~ Paradigm